Chapter 1
The apartment was still, with Heather gone off to do whatever teen whims called to her, and the extraterrestrial powers that be following close behind. It was a situation that was far too long to detail and too strange to make sense of that landed the men together in the silence left behind. Harry hadn’t questioned the reason for bringing James along into the family unit – it had just seemed right – and he had taken time to study the man, of course. It was in his nature. He logged away the little details to use for later. Either in a book, an article, a fanciful image at the dead of night. He mulled them over as he finished cleaning the accumulated dishes.
James Sunderland was-
Strange? Harry cocked his head to the side as he picked at some stuck crumb. They were all strange.
Shy? Of course. That was easy to tell. Thought it seemed too simple of a word especially with how he’d skirted corners and gave others distance. Distance enough to be respectful to most though distance enough to be concerning to Harry. As if James couldn’t allow himself to take up space. Harry felt his brow tense.
James was most certainly starved. Not for food – Harry and Heather made sure of that with their enthusiasm for family meals – but starved for almost anything else. Connection, touch, validation, praise, love, support.
Harry heaved a sigh as his brain ran through the numerous pieces. It all connected so easily, having suffered, not in the same ways though parallel enough in his process. He’d also noted the ways James reacted to certain things. Like how his pale face colored quickly at a compliment until he caught himself, how he squirmed a bit when put on the spot, the height of his voice when returning a pleasantry. Warm suds brought Harry back to the task at hand and a spoon shot water at his midsection. He clicked his tongue.
He didn’t want to admit he enjoyed these recollections though at heart he was a nurturer. And a bit of a teaser. Heather could attest to that if asked – the list of Harry’s antics longer than a CVS receipt.
“It’d be best for James,” Harry decided, “…to get used to it, huh? He’s going to have to get used to this eventually…”
Drying his hands, Harry wandered to the living room, peeking around the corner to find the blond where he expected.
Sitting in an armchair - the only place he’d seemed to claim as his own - looking out the nearest window, all the lights off as was his tendency. Not by choice, Harry learned over time, but just by passage of time. James startled when the lights turned on and spun around with wide eyes to seek out the source of change before bringing himself back. Harry shot his best disarming smile.
“Sorry,” he offered, coming closer, “thought some light might be good.”
“Right,” James nodded mechanically, his script at the ready, “Thank you – sorry.”
It was usually like that.
“Thank you – sorry.”
All followed together so quickly that one could mistake it as a word all its own. Practiced, precise, well-used.
“I mean, I could keep ‘em off if you like.”
The offer made the blond’s brow twitch. He seemed unsure.
“I might bump into a thing or two,” Harry continued, “what with my night vision being a bit poor. Heather always hates if we have to drive at night – ‘Dad, you need glasses and you can hardly see in the dark, you’re gonna get us killed.’”
Harry paused for a moment – expecting a response.
James simply stared. He hadn’t said much in the time they’d been together. Nothing past a sentence here and there; a few bright moments scattered like stars. It was a shame since Harry liked the sound of James’ voice. It was soft, gentle, careful… Harry blinked a bit as he realized he’d been staring back much too long. A laugh escaped the older man’s lips in turn, not wanting to let the silence linger.
“Anyway – mind if I sit? – so, I just wanted to check in. I know it’s been a weird thing being in this house with all of us, well, Heather and I and - aliens? I guess aliens, yeah - but I hope it’s been okay so far. It’s a heck of a thing explaining how we ended up here to begin with but being all cozy together certainly is something else! Kind of reminds me of…”
James shifted slightly as Harry had gotten comfortable at the closer end of the couch, rambling on about everything and nothing at all. They were sharing space within arms reach and James eyed Harry’s arm carefully before rubbing his own. His gaze flicked from Harry’s to the floor, to the doorway, to Harry, to the floor again. Absolutely unsure what to settle on. The other man’s smile was entirely too friendly, too casual, too carefree.
He swallowed.
Harry’s chatter had died down and when James looked up from the floor once more, he stiffened. The older man’s dark eyes locked with his and tightness gripped his throat. A smile still played along Harry’s lips and after what seemed like an eternity, he leaned over, hand extended. James’ body screamed to pull away - retreat, retreat, retreat! The alarm bells overlapped at a dizzying volume with growing intensity until he felt the pressure of a hand atop his head. There was a pause as he registered the gesture – so fatherly and reassuring – followed by the gentle ruffle of fingers through his hair tingling across his nerves.
His eyes widened.
“You’re doing really great,” Harry said- no, whispered. It was a tone that betrayed what James had grown used to. Something somehow warmer than before. Warm enough to run from the top of his head to the bottom of his soles in a pleasant flush.
“If I was you, I’d have a hell of a time - I think you’re really doing great, James.”
The validation colored the blond’s cheeks and ears and nose and hell, most of his face, the residual heat battling with the heat of Harry’s hand on his head. The ruffling had changed to a more rhythmic movement and James felt his eyes water. A sensation aside the heat danced along the blond’s body – from his throat to his heart to his stomach and lower down to…
“You are one resilient guy,” Harry noted, as if he’d had this all ready far in advance, “and a guy who could use some rest, huh? So, let yourself rest. You’ve earned yourself a break. You’re a decent guy, after all.”
Harry’s hand slowed before slipping down to cup the blond’s reddened cheek. The older man’s hand felt cool compared to his own skin and was a welcome relief. His eyes burned from the tears that threatened to spill over as he tried to take in Harry’s words. It was hard to hear them after such a long, long time and the sensations – the arousal - that came with it made James want to jump out of his skin. Not from the unpleasantness of it all but…
The genuine warmth felt like adding water to the murky oil in his brain.
Look at you getting all worked up, someone gives you pretty pity words and look what happens, you’re disgusting, he’s going to notice, he’ll see what’s going on and he’ll be repulsed, you don’t deserve the kindness anyway, you don’t deserve the touch, after all, who’d want to touch you –
The messages boiled over before James could check himself and he jerked away – arms brought up to shield his face as he pulled back, legs pressed together to hide the evidence of Harry’s effect on him.
“T-that’s not-!” James wasn’t sure what was escaping but he didn’t like it. He bit his lip to stop whatever else wanted to burst through and pressed his face into the crook of his arm.
You don’t get to have fun after what you did, James. You don’t get to rest, you don’t get to pretend it’s all over, you don’t get to feel wanted, the Nastiness shrieked, your time for that was with Mar-
James screwed his eyes tight, a buzz of noise filling his head to drown out the name. It was the last thing he wanted to hear.
Harry had held his hands up in the universal stop signal – hands up, palms out. He sucked in a breath as the blond crumpled in on himself in real time.
“What’s not?”
James shook his head quickly, the tips of his ears red from having flushed so heavily. Why hadn’t he gotten up before now? He could have left, he could have run, he could never look back-
“Okay,” Harry said, tone somehow no different than before, “I might have an idea.”
The guessing game was an attempt at humor - Harry’s preferred way to get through most situations. He’d cultivated the skill many years back, especially with help from his late wife, and feigned intense thought.
“Let me guess some things that you are, then…” he began, tapping a finger to his temple, “Perhaps, a gentle person? Or a surprisingly humorous one? Could it be that you have a sharp wit that’s made me double take on more than one occasion?”
From the crook of his arm, James stifled a whimper. Harry’s felt something in him ache at the reaction – whether it was his heart or his cock, he couldn’t be sure.
“Would it be wrong to guess that you’re a man who loves to be loved?”
“That’s not me!” James shot back, the question finally cracking the shield that had been wearing down. He revealed his face then – chest heaving, skin flushed, eyes puffy, cheeks tear-streaked, and somehow, Harry thought, very lovely. His green eyes were striking from the outset though tears had really drawn attention to them. The intensity in James’ expression sent a particular jolt through Harry’s spine.
“I beg to differ.”
The blond’s lips thinned as Harry’s gaze lowered and his hand reached out. Harry’s cool touch crept along James’ skin as his palm cupped the blond’s cheek just as before. There was a moment of tension as James grew stiff and his breath hitched. As if he needed to force himself to stop, as if he had to make room for Harry to exist as well. The older man’s eyes narrowed at this – the dark, unreadable depths boring holes into the other’s thin attempt at control.
James was tired. Beyond tired. The bag under his eyes had lessened with each passing day in the Mason household, yes, but the fatigue stuck to him like wet clothes. He felt like he earned it – a martyr’s weight to carry – yet he was hardly that. Trying to wrap it up in sympathy and understanding and being in the other person’s shoes didn’t ease the pain. Harry’s searching look seemed to recognize this and his cool fingers danced along James’ skin under he had a firm hold at the back of the blond’s neck. His tone was lower, somehow lower than before, steady, even, serious, halting. James didn’t dare look away.
“You’re hurting, and you’ve hurt, and you need to heal,” he said carefully, “It’s not one or the other, it’s all the same.”
The words dug deeper than any executioner’s blade. It was recognition and validation and permission.
James had wronged, he’d lost, he’d gotten through, but what came next?
Fresh tears flowed with little warming as James’ lips pursed together. His head dropped and the tears littered his thighs with soft, warm touches. Harry’s hold was constant as he shifted closer and his fingers moved to the blond’s hair once more. He stroked and brushed and caressed as James wept in earnest.
“Good.”
Harry’s encouragement brought on a choked reply.
“That’s it.”
A whimper.
“Good boy.”
Another small sound.
“Very good…”
And a final shaky sigh as James’ shoulders sagged.
The strength to hold himself together dried up and he acted without thinking, letting himself fall forward towards Harry. The older man caught the blond against his chest perfectly with James’ forehead against the Harry’s shoulder. Puffs of hot breath peppered his exposed collar bone and a smile danced on Harry’s lips as he ran his hands over James’ broad shoulders. Muffled whimpers and sounds of pleasure left James as his body loosened more and more. It was incredible what a little encouragement could do and Harry noted this development for later.
He also politely kept the knowledge of James’ erection to himself as he let the other calm down in his own time. There would be a lot to process once the blond was back in a good space and Harry wasn’t about to let him get off easy.
Chapter 1 End.